


Lost and Found

by untouchable



Category: This Way Up (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sexual Content, alternative universe, brief talk of mental health issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:42:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24693214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/untouchable/pseuds/untouchable
Summary: When she gets caught in the middle of a thunderstorm, Áine calls Richard.
Relationships: Aine/Richard (This Way Up), Richard/Aine
Comments: 7
Kudos: 32





	Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

  * For [schrodingers_bee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/schrodingers_bee/gifts).



> This is a response to a prompt given to me by @schrodingers_bee. Hope you like it!

Áine is always losing things. The coin pouch on the side of her wallet is full, weighing down her purse, but she never seems to have change to feed the meter. Her socks keep disappearing from the wash. The cardigan she borrowed from Shona is gone from her closet. Tickets, library books, the TV remote; all lost. 

“I think I’ve lost my fucking mind,” Áine told Shona before rehab, when things were really bad.

“So then find it again,” Shona replied, all at once sounding scared and a bit frustrated and helpless.

Since rehab, things are better, but Áine can’t stop noticing how her sister watches her sometimes, like she’s just waiting for her to fall apart again, waiting for her to shatter.

This is why Áine, when she gets caught in the middle of a thunderstorm, calls Richard. 

Despite the rainy weather forecast, she’d left home that morning without a raincoat or umbrella, having been unable to find them before leaving for work, and now it’s dark and she’s completely soaked and alone, walking through a sketchy neighborhood because the bus was late and she wanted to get home, but now she’s lost, crying a little, and totally fucked, and she knows that this, certainly, is not the behavior of someone who is doing okay in life. And, whether it’s true or not, Áine’s been trying really, really hard to convince Shona that she’s okay. She’s not going to ruin that just because of some rain. 

Richard agrees to come get her, and, after the call is over, she stares at her phone, at his contact information on the screen. His name, number, and a little note that says “tutoring gig” with a smiley emoji next to it. She’s just the tutor, and sure, he’s been more friendly to her lately, but she hadn’t expected him to actually say yes to rescuing her. She’d gotten out her phone to call a taxi and then suddenly she was tapping his name and holding the phone to her ear, acting on instinct. 

Why did he say yes? Does he pity her? She thinks about what that woman at the shops the other day said to her: “You have sad eyes, girl.”

Why was Richard, after Shona, the first person she thought of to come help her?

In therapy, they taught her to imagine a box or a drawer in her mind, some kind of container to put uncomfortable thoughts in to keep them from constantly agitating her. But Áine doesn’t want to put Richard in a box. She likes thinking about him, even if it’s confusing. And it is. Confusing, that is. Because he’s so serious and aloof all the time, which usually turns her off a guy, but there’s something about him, some warmth in his eyes and in his smile — when he does smile, which isn’t a whole bloody lot — that intrigues her. 

Her phone is getting wet so Áine shoves it deep in the pocket of her jacket. She’s huddled under a small storefront awning, pressed as far back as she can, but rain still pelts her face. Or maybe that’s the tears. Hard to tell, honestly. Through blurry eyes, she surveys the run-down street. The flickering streetlamp makes the graffiti, cracked pavement, and barred windows look especially grim. 

She isn’t sure how she ended up here. Recently, this is a recurring thought. 

_ If this were a horror movie _ , Áine thinks,  _ something would be getting ready to jump out at me from the dark right about now, some fanged creature or a man in a hoodie with a sharp knife, and I’d be dead soon. _

She’s kind of proud of herself at the amount of fear the thought produces. She doesn’t want to die. Maybe she  _ is _ getting better. Maybe therapy isn’t such a waste of time after all. 

By the time Richard arrives, she’s stopped crying. 

“What the hell are you doing out here?” he demands, coming round to her side of the car with an umbrella — which she finds amusing, how he insists on holding it over her, since it’s not like she can get any wetter at this point. 

“Oh, you know. Just taking a pleasant nighttime stroll.”

As if on cue, lightning streaks against the sky, and thunder rumbles in the distance.

Richard sighs heavily, but, even in the low light, she can see his lips quirk up into something resembling a smile. Before Áine can do something ridiculous, like kiss him in the rain chick-flick style, she ducks into the passenger side and shuts the door. 

It’s warm and dry inside, an instant reprieve from how she’d been shivering moments ago. She’s getting rainwater all over his nice leather seats but she can’t even bring herself to care. Áine leans her head back against the headrest, closing her eyes. There’s a pressure in her chest, and her eyes sting; she almost begins to cry again.

He came to get her. She needed him and Richard actually came.

Even her mom, when Áine wanted her to come get her in rehab, hadn’t come . T his is too painful for her to dwell on for long, so she doesn’t.

She takes a deep breath and opens her eyes.

The sound of the storm gets louder as Richard opens his door and gets into the driver's seat. As his door shuts, the noise of rain hitting the sidewalk returns to background music. It’s just them now. The outside world feels very far away

“I — I’m sorry for all this,” Áine finds herself saying to him. She’s never been very good with silence. “The bus was late so I just started walking, but then it got dark and I must have missed the turn — I’ve walked home before it’s not, like, you know.” She waves her hand in the air vaguely, not exactly sure what it is she expects him to know. She soldiers on. “And I had my maps app open, but, I don’t know, I was confused. This city is like a fucking maze sometimes, right? So I was going to get a ride and then I rung you for some reason — ”

“Áine,” Richard interrupts.

“ — so...sorry,” she finishes lamely.

“It’s all right. I’m glad that you…” He clears his throat. “I was in a meeting nearby anyway.”

She looks at him fully for the first time, noticing his blue suit and tie and shiny watch. She glances at the time.

“This late?”

“Special project,” he explains, shrugging one shoulder as he starts the engine. “Etienne’s sleeping over at a friend’s tonight.

She blinks. That’s surely code for shagging one of his colleagues, right?  _ Special project, my arse _ , Áine thinks to herself. She tries not to be jealous. 

Richard looks really nice in a suit. It’s distracting, and it’s all she can think of as he begins to maneuver them through the dark, narrow streets of London. His striped tie is loose and several of the top buttons of his shirt are undone, and she fantasizes about pressing her lips to the exposed skin at his throat and feeling his heartbeat. Then she becomes fascinated by his hands moving at the wheel, one hand at the top to turn and the other resting at the bottom, long, pale fingers tapping out an unheard beat, and imagines what else his fingers could be doing. To her, specifically.

Turns out she was wrong earlier. She  _ can _ get wetter.

“I haven’t heard you be this quiet for so long in all the time I’ve known you,” he says, breaking through the haze in her mind.

She pushes the damp hair from her forehead and forces herself to look out the window. The heavy rainfall blurs everything into a watercolor image, distorting the colors and shapes of the houses outside.

“I’m very versatile, actually, despite the rumors. Flexible. That’s me.”

“Flexible, huh?”

She swallows. His eyes are on the road and she can’t read his expression. 

“Yup.” 

They roll to a stop at a red light. Richard moves unexpectedly and Áine freezes. To her surprise and embarrassment, he only fetches a coat from the backseat and hands it to her. 

“Put that on if you’re cold. Let me know if you want the heat on higher.”

She feels like her voice would wobble and betray her if she replies, so she doesn’t. She undoes her seatbelt and dives into the backseat, her leg knocking against his arm as she gets there. She begins unbuttoning her blouse.

“I meant putting it on  _ over _ your clothes.”

“Well,” she says cheekily. “You should have been more specific.”

She pulls her blouse over her head. A car horn blares and Richard lurches forward, cursing. Apparently, he hadn’t noticed the light switch to green.

Áine pulls his wool coat around her. It scratches a little against her bare skin, but it’s so warm and smells like Richard so it seems heavenly. She’s already half laying down so she could change without anyone seeing, but she scoots lower, curling onto the seat like she used to do during road trips with her parents. The motion of the car and the dull patter of rain immediately lull her to sleep. 

*

Hours later, she wakes in an unfamiliar bed. Before she can get frightened, she spots a shape on the nearby sofa that she recognizes as Richard. He’s asleep, dressed in sweats now, and she takes a second to mourn the suit before sitting up. This is his bed, Áine realizes. The last thing she remembers is falling asleep in the backseat of his car. 

Why didn’t he take her back to her own flat? Christ, did she even give him the address? No, come to think of it. She feels like hitting herself, except her head hurts from all the crying she did earlier, so she holds off on that for the time being. Flagellation can happen later. Now, she really needs some  _ Aspirin _ and a cup of water. 

She’s never been in his room before, even though she’s been in most other rooms in the house, but she manages to navigate well enough in the dimness. In the bathroom attached to Richard’s bedroom, she drinks from the faucet and takes something for her headache. Her face feels puffy so she avoids looking herself in the mirror. She pees quickly before washing her hands and softly shutting the door behind her. 

Áine tried to be as quiet as possible in the bathroom, but she sees Richard stir as she makes her way back to the bed. Feeling brave in the cover of shadows, she changes her destination and goes over to him. 

“Hi,” she whispers, hovering over him, unsure of what to do.

“Hi,” he mumbles. 

In the dark, his eyes look almost black. They dart down to her chest and then back up to her face.

She becomes aware of what she’s wearing — or, rather, not wearing. He left her exactly as she’d been in the car, but she’d taken off her blouse to wear his warm coat, and she stands before him now as the coat flaps open, revealing her bra-covered breasts and the creamy expanse of her abdomen. 

Áine knows she should close the coat, zip it up, and go back to bed in order to wake up tomorrow, go home, and pretend none of this ever happened. She does none of these things.

He says her name, low, purposeful, and it makes her a little wild. She lets the coat fall to the floor. 

“This is a dream,” he says. “You’re a dream.”

His chest rises and falls rapidly. There’s something almost desperate about his face that washes all the uncertainty from her. He wants her, she realizes, and badly. She’s not alone in feeling this way. It’s a heady revelation. 

“No,” Áine tells him. “It’s not.”

She unhooks her bra. Before it can tumble to the ground, Richard surges up and clamps onto her arms, his chest flush against hers, trapping the scrap of lacy material between their bodies. His breath his hot in her ear.

“Don’t you want to?”

“Yes,” he rumbles. “You have no idea, Áine. But I don’t want you to think you have to — ”

“The only thing I’m thinking about right now is you inside me.”

Richard swears under his breath. He loosens his grip on her arms and slides his hands down her back, feather-light touches that make her shiver as he nudges his knee between her legs. He presses his thigh up against her and a thrill zips down her spine. She can feel his cock, heavy and hard, against her hip.

Áine kisses him. She feels like she’s burning as he kisses her back feverishly, flicking his tongue against the roof of her mouth. Her bra slips away and his hands replace it. His fingers are cold compared to her heated skin. When he pinches her nipple, her legs feel unsteady.

Thunder booms nearby.

“Need you,” she mutters between kisses. “Now.”

They’re both too worked up to get all their clothes off. Her skirt is hiked up around her waist as he bends her over the sofa and takes her from behind. It’s slow at first, them finding a rhythm together, learning each other’s bodies. But Áine needs more and soon he gives it to her, hands tights on her waist as he fucks her hard, the slap of flesh and her cries mingling with the sounds of the storm.

*

The next time she wakes, the sky is clear and the pink light of dawn is brightening up the room. Beside her, completely naked, is Richard. He’s snoring, mouth open slightly, which she should absolutely not find sexy but somehow does. Something pulses in her chest. 

Áine gently tucks her hand underneath his on the bed between them. She goes back to sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr: @dailyspike


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